CHAPTER V

The dinner was simple: beef stewed with potatoes and carrots and onions,

and pie, and real coffee. But it measured up to Hunt's boast: the chef

of the Ritz, limited to so simple a menu, could indeed have done no

better. And Larry, after his prison fare, was dining as dine the gods.

The irrepressible Hunt, trying to read this new specimen that had come

under his observation, sought to draw Larry out. “Barney Palmer and

Old Jimmie were here this afternoon, wanting to see you. They've got

something big waiting for you. I suppose you're all ready to jump in and

put it over with a wallop.”

“I'm going to put something over with a wallop--but I guess business

will have to wait until Barney, Jimmie, and I have a talk. Can you spare

me a little more of that stew?”

His manner of speaking was a quiet announcement to Hunt that his plans

were for the present a closed subject. Hunt felt balked, for this lean,

alert, much-talked-of adventurer piqued him greatly; but he switched to

other subjects, and during the rest of the meal did most of the talking.

The Duchess was silent, and seemingly was concerned only with her

food. Larry got in a fair portion of speech, but for the most part his

attention, except for that required for eating, was fixed upon Maggie.

How she had sprung up since he had last seen her! Almost a woman

now--and destined to be a beauty! And more than just a beauty: she was

colorful, vital, high-strung. Before he had gone away he had regarded

her with something akin to the negligent affection of an older brother.

But this thing which was already beginning to surge up in him was

altogether different, and he knew it.

As for Maggie, when she looked at him, she flushed and her eyes grew

bright. Larry was back!--the brilliant, daring Larry. She was aware that

she had been successful in startling and gripping his attention. Yes,

they would do great things together!

When the dinner was finished and the dishes washed, Larry gave voice to

this new urge that had so quickly grown up within him.

“What do you say, Maggie, to a little walk?”

“All right,” she replied eagerly.

They went down the narrow stairway together. On the landing of the

second floor, which contained only Maggie's bedroom and the Duchess's

and a tiny kitchen, Maggie started to leave him to change into street

clothes; but he caught her arm and said, “Come on.” They descended the

next flight and came into the back room behind the pawnshop, which the

Duchess used as a combination of sitting-room, office, and storeroom.

About this musty museum hung or stood unredeemed seamen's jackets, men

and women's evening wear, banjos, guitars, violins, umbrellas, and one

huge green stuffed parrot sitting on top of the Duchess's safe.

“I wanted to talk, not walk,” he said. “Let's stay here.”

He took her hands and looked down on her steadily. Under the yellow

gaslight her face gleamed excitedly up into his, her breath came

quickly.

“Well, sir, what do you think of me?” she demanded. “Have I changed

much?”

“Changed? Why, it's magic, Maggie! I left you a schoolgirl; you're a

woman now. And a wonder!”

“You think so?” She flushed with pride and pleasure, and a wildness of

spirit possessed her and demanded expression in action. She freed

her left hand and slipped it over Larry's shoulder. “Come on--let's

two-step.”

“But, Maggie, I've forgotten.”

“Come on!”

Instantly she was dragging him over the scanty floor space. But after a

moment he halted, protesting.

“These prison brogans were not intended by their builders for such

work. If you've got to dance, you'll have to work it out of your system

alone.”

“All right!”

At once, in the midst of the dingy room, humming the music, she

was doing Carmen's dance--wild, provocative, alluring. It was not a

remarkable performance in any professionally technical sense; but it had

vivid personality; she was light, lithe, graceful, flashing with color

and spirits.

“Maggie!” he exclaimed, when she had finished and stood before him

glowing and panting. “Good! Where did you learn that?”

“In the chorus of a cabaret revue.”

“Is that what you're doing now, working in a chorus?”

“No. Barney and father said a chorus was no place for me.” She drew

nearer. “Oh, Larry, I've such a lot to tell you.”

“Go on.”

“Well”--she cocked her head impishly--“I've been going to school.”

“Going to school! Where?”

“Lots of places. Just now I'm going to school at the Ritzmore Hotel.”

“At the Ritzmore Hotel!” He stared at her bewildered. “What are you

learning there?”

“To be a lady.” She laughed at his increasing bewilderment. “A real

lady, Larry,” she went on excitedly. “Oh, it's such a wonderful idea!

Father had never seemed to think much of me till the night I went to

a masquerade ball with Mr. Hunt, and he and Barney saw me in these

clothes. They had never seen me really dressed up before; Barney said it

was an eye-opener. They saw how I could be of big use to you all. But to

be that, I've got to be a lady--a real lady, who knows how to behave and

wear real clothes. That's what they're doing now: making me a lady.”

“Making you a lady!” exclaimed Larry. “How?”

“By putting me where I can watch real ladies, and study them. Barney cut

short my being in a chorus; Barney said a chorus girl never learned to

pass for a lady. So I've been working in places where the swellest women

come. First in a milliner shop; then as dresser to a model in the shop

of a swell modiste; always watching how the ladies behave. Now I'm at

the Ritzmore, and I carry a tray of cigarettes around the tables at

lunch and at tea-time and during dinner and during the after-theater

supper. I'm supposed to be there to sell cigarettes, but I'm really

there to watch how the ladies handle their knives and forks and behave

toward the men. Isn't it all awfully clever?”

“Why, Maggie!” he exclaimed.

“And pretty soon, when I've learned more,” she continued rapidly, “I'm

going to have swell clothes of my own--and be a lady--and get away from

this dingy, stuffy, dead old place! I can't stand for being buried down

here much longer. And, oh, Larry, I'm going to begin to work with you!”

“What?” he blinked, not yet quite understanding.

“You think I'm not clever enough? But I am!” she protested. “I tell you

I've learned a lot. And Barney and father have let me help in a lot of

things--nothing really big yet, of course. They think I'm going to be

a wonder. Just to-day father was saying that you and I, teamed up--Why,

what's the matter, Larry?”

“You and I--teamed up,” he repeated slowly.

“Yes. Don't you like the idea?”

His hands suddenly gripped her bare shoulders.

“There's nothing to it!” he exclaimed almost savagely.

“What's that?” she cried, startled.

“I tell you there's nothing to it!”

“You--you think I can't put it over?”

“You can't! And I'm not going to have it!”

“Why--why--”

Staring, she drew slowly away from him. His face, which a few moments

before had been smiling, was now harsh and dominant with decision.

She had heard him spoken of as “Laughing Larry”; and also as “Terrible

Larry” whose aroused will none could brook. He looked this latter person

now, and she could not understand.

But though she could not understand, her own defiant spirit stormed up

to fight this unexpected opposition. He didn't believe in her--that was

it! He didn't think she was equal to working with him! Her young figure

stiffened in angered pride, and her mind was gathering hot phrases

to fling at him when the door from the pawnshop began to creak open.

Instantly Larry turned toward it, relaxed and yet alert for anything.

Old Jimmie and Barney Palmer entered.

“Hello, Larry!” cried the old man, crossing. “Welcome to our city!”

“Hello, Jimmie. Hello, Barney.” And Larry shook hands with his partners

of other days.

“Gee, Larry, it's good to see you!” exclaimed the cunning-eyed old man.

“Didn't know you were back till I bumped into Gavegan on Broadway. He

told me, and so Barney and I beat it over here to see you. Believe me,

Larry, that flatfoot is certainly sore at you!”

Larry ignored the last sentence. “Think it exactly wise for you two to

come here?”

“Why, Larry?”

“Gavegan, Casey, the police, may follow, thinking you've come to see me

for some purpose. That outfit may act upon suspicion.”

Jimmie grinned cunningly. “A man can come to visit his own daughter as

often as he likes. Father love, Larry.”

“I see; that'll be your explanation.” Larry's eyes grew keen at the new

understanding. “I hadn't thought of that before, Jimmie. So that's why

you've always boarded Maggie around in shady joints: so's you could meet

your pals and yet always have the excuse that you had come to meet your

daughter?”

“Partly that,” smiled Old Jimmie blandly--perhaps too blandly. “Suppose

we sit down.”

They did so, Maggie sitting a little apart from the men and regarding

Larry with indignant, questioning eyes. She still could not understand

his queer behavior when she had announced her intention of working with

him. Could it be, as her father had said, because he would never work

with women--not trusting them? She'd show him!

She was so occupied with this wonderment that she gave no heed to the

talk about Larry's experience in Sing Sing and Old Jimmie's recital of

what had happened among Larry's friends during his absence. During this

gossip the Duchess entered from the stairway, and without word to any

one shuffled across to her desk in a corner and bent silently over her

accounts: just one more grotesque and unredeemed pledge in this museum

of antiquities and forgotten pawns.

Presently Barney Palmer, who had been impatient during all this, broke

out with:

“Aw, let's cut out this chatter about what used to be and get down to

cases. Jimmie, will you spill the business to Larry, or want me to?”

“I'll tell him. Listen, Larry.” Maggie pricked up her ears; the talk was

now excitingly important. “We've got our very greatest game all planned

out. Stock-selling game; going to unload the whole thing on one sucker,

and we've got the sucker picked out. Besides you and Barney and me,

there's Red Hannigan and Jack Rosenfeldt in it--a classy bunch all

right. And we think that for the woman end we'll take in Mae Gorham.

She's clever and innocent-eyed--”

“But I thought you were going to take me in!” protested Maggie.

“Maggie'll be just as good as Mae Gorham,” put in Barney.

“We'll let that pass,” said Old Jimmie. “The main thing, Larry, is that

everything is ready. It's a whale of a business proposition. We've been

waiting for you; you're all that's lacking--the brainy guy to sit behind

the scenes and manage the thing. You've handled the bunch for a long

time, and they want you to handle this. For you're sure a wonder at

business, Larry! None keener. Well, we've held this off waiting for you

for a month. How about jumping right in?”

All three eyed Larry. His lean face was expressionless. He lit a

cigarette, rose and leaned against the Duchess's safe on which stood the

green parrot, and, gaze on the floor, slowly exhaled smoke through his

nostrils.

“Well?” demanded Barney.

Larry looked at the two men with quiet, even eyes. “Thanks to both of

you. It's a great compliment. But I've had time to do a little planning

myself up in Sing Sing, and I've worked out a game that's got this one

beat a mile.”

“Hell!” ejaculated Barney in wrathful disgust. “Jimmie, I told you we

were wasting time waiting for him!”

“Hold on a second, Barney. If Larry's worked out a better game, he'll

take us into it. But, Larry, how can your game beat this one?”

“Because there's more money in it. And because it's safer.”

“Safe! Aw, hell!” The smouldering jealousy and hatred glared out

of Barney's greenish eyes. “I always knew you had a yellow streak!

Something safe! Aw, hell!”

“Don't blow up, Barney. What is the new game, Larry?” queried the old

man.

Larry regarded the two men steadfastly. He seemed reluctant to speak.

“Well?” prompted Old Jimmie. “Is it something you don't want to let us

in on?”

“Of course I'll let you in on it, and be glad to, if you want to come

in,” Larry replied in his level tone. “As I said, I've thought it all

out and it's a great proposition. Here's the game: I'm going to run

straight.”

For a moment all three sat astounded by this quiet statement from their

leader. Nothing he might have said could have been more unexpected, more

stupefying. The Duchess alone moved; she turned her head and held her

sunken eyes upon her grandson.

Simultaneously the two men and Maggie stood up.

“The hell you say!” grated Barney Palmer.

“Larry, you gone crazy?” cried Old Jimmie.

Maggie moved a pace nearer him. “Going to go straight?” she asked

incredulously.

“Listen, all of you,” Larry said quietly. “No, Jimmie, I've not gone

crazy. I'm merely going a little sane. You just said I was a wonder

at business, Jimmie. I think I am myself. I thought it all over as a

business proposition. Suppose we clean up fifty or a hundred thousand on

a big deal. We've got to split it several ways, perhaps pay a big piece

to the police for protection, perhaps pay a lot of lawyers, and then

perhaps get sent away for a year or several years, during which we don't

take in a nickel. I figured that over a term of years my average income

was mighty small. As a business man it seemed to me that I was in a poor

business, with no future. So I decided to get into a new business that

had a future. That's the size of it.”

“You're turning yellow--that's the real size of it!” snarled Barney

Palmer, half starting toward him.

“Better be a little careful, Barney,” Larry warned with tightening jaw.

“You really mean, Larry,” demanded Old Jimmie, “that you're going to

drop us after us counting on you and waiting for you so long?”

“I'm sorry about having kept you waiting, Jimmie. But we've parted

definitely.” Then Larry added: “Unless you want to travel my road.”

“Your road! Never!” snapped Barney.

“And you, Jimmie?” Larry inquired, his eyes on Barney's inflamed face.

“I don't see your proposition. And I'm too old a bird to start something

new. No, thanks. I'll stick to what I know.”

His next words, showing his long yellow teeth, were spoken slowly, but

they were hard, and had a cutting edge. “You've got a sweet idea of

what's straight, Larry: dropping us without a leader, just when we need

a leader most.”

Larry's composed yet watchful gaze was still on Barney. “You're not

really left in such a bad way. Barney here is ready to take charge.”

“You bet I am!” Barney flamed at him, his hands clenching. “And the

bunch won't lose by the change, you bet! The bunch always thought you

were an ace--and I always knew you were a two-spot. And now they'll see

I was right--that you were always yellow!”

Larry still leaned against the safe in the same posture of seeming ease,

but he expected Barney to strike at any moment, and held himself in

readiness for a flashing fist. Barney had been hard to hold in leash in

the old days; now that all ties of partnership were broken, he saw in

those small gleaming eyes a defiance and a hatred that henceforth had

no reason for restraint. And he knew that Barney was shrewd, grimly

tenacious, and limitless in self-confidence and ambition.

“And listen to this, too, Larry Brainard,” Barney's temper carried him

on. “Don't you mix in and try any preaching on Maggie.” He half turned

his head jealously. “Maggie, don't you listen to any of this boob's

Salvation Army talk!”

Maggie did not at once respond, but stood gazing at the two confronting

figures. To her they were an oddly dissimilar pair: Barney in the

smartest clothes that an over-smart Broadway tailor could create, and

Larry in the shapeless garments that were the State's gift to him on

leaving prison.

“Maggie,” he repeated, “don't you listen to this boob's talk!”

“I'll do just as I please, Barney.”

“But you're going to come our way?” he demanded.

“Of course.”

He turned back to Larry. “You hear that? You leave Maggie alone!”

Larry did not answer, though his temper was rising. He looked over

Barney's head at Maggie's father.

“Jimmie,” he remarked in his same even voice, “anything more you'd like

to say?”

“I'm through.”

“Then,” said Larry, “better lead your new commander-in-chief out of

here, or I'll carry him out and spank him.”

“What's that?” snarled Barney.

“Get out!” Larry ordered, in a voice suddenly like steel.

Barney's fist swung viciously at Larry's head. It did not land, because

Larry's head was elsewhere. Larry did not take advantage of the opening

to strike back, but as the fist flashed by he seized the wrist, and

in the same instant he seized the other wrist. The next moment he held

Barney helpless in a twisting, torturing grip that he had learned from

one of his non-Christian friends at the Y.M.C.A.

“Barney--are you going to walk out, or shall I kick you out?”

Barney's answer came after a moment through gritted teeth: “I'll walk

out--but I'll get you for this!”

“I know you'll try, Barney. And I know you'll try to get me behind my

back.” Larry loosed his grip. “Good-night.”

Barney backed glowering to the door; and Old Jimmie, his gray face an

expressionless mask, silently followed him out.

All this while the Duchess had looked on, motionless in her corner, a

dingy, forgotten part of the dingy background--no more noticeable than

one of her own dusty, bizarre pledges.